


Taxi Driver - Redux

by SuePokorny



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Remix, Episode s08e19, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 04:27:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuePokorny/pseuds/SuePokorny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since the episode Taxi Driver took canon bashing to a new high, I decided to see what would happen if the episode was re-done using canon instead of stepping all over it. So this is my version of Taxi Driver complete with both boys involved in the trial. No eggs were scrambled during the writing of this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act I

**Taxi Driver – Redux**

 

**Act I**

 

_“Keeeevin. Keeeevin.”_

Kevin Tran’s eyes opened, his heart jumping at the sound of the voice. At first his muddy, sleep-addled brain  assumed it was Garth, calling to tell him he’d returned from… wherever it was the guy went. Kevin didn’t really pay much attention.

_“I know what you’re up to.”_

That was not Garth.

The young man rose from the cot, his breath coming in gasps as he recognized the voice echoing in the confines of the small boat he’d been living on in almost complete isolation for the last few months.

_“Working with them, those Winchesters? Dead end, Kevin.”_

No. It couldn’t be. How did he find me?

Kevin ran across the small room, his heart in his throat. He’d thought he was safe. Sam and Dean had assured him that there was no way for Crowley to find him. Garth told him the sigils painted all over the boat were enough to keep him safe. He was supposed to be hidden here. That’s the only reason he’d agreed to stay on this godforsaken tin can, the only reason he’d agreed to send his mom away.

He stepped to the doorway between the two tiny rooms of the boat, his eyes searching the moonlit darkness, the voice continuing to reverberate, taunting him.

_“Not here.”_

He stepped out into the grayness of the room, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow, searching for any sign of the King of Hell.

_“Not here, either.”_

After Crowley had tortured him, cut off his finger in an attempt to get him to give him the information from the tablet, Kevin had dedicated himself to figuring out the way to close the gates of Hell. He’d convinced himself it was the only way he would ever truly be safe.  The Winchesters had done what they could to keep him alive, but they couldn’t watch him 24/7.  Not even Garth was around enough to be considered a bodyguard. It was just him. Alone. Or so he thought….

_“Give up?”_ Crowley’s voice continued to taunt him as he searched _. “I’m in your head.”_ Kevin peeked under a tarp thrown across the table. _“As well as everywhere else.”_

In his head? But it sounded so real. So close…

The reflection from a mirror caught his attention and he moved to the small cabinet across the room.

_“Last time you irked me, you lost a finger. Imagine what will happen this time.”_

The reflection in the mirror held up an arm, a bloody stump all that remained where his hand used to be.

Kevin screamed, his eyes riveted to the blood pouring from the truncated limb. His knee suddenly gave out and he tilted precariously, the pain a sudden flash as his other leg joined the first and he sank into a pool of dark blood. As his body slowly broke apart, piece by piece, he could only scream as the voice began to laugh.

 

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNS

 

“Kevin! Open up!” Dean pounded on the metal hatch to Garth’s boat, listening for any sign of the teenaged prophet. “Kevin!”

There was a creak of metal on metal and the door slowly opened, revealing a very freaked out Kevin Tran, armed with a large cast iron frying pan.

“Whoa, whoa!”  Dean held up a hand in a universal gesture of surrender as he pushed past the young man followed closely by his brother. “What’s going on? What’s with the S.O.S?”

“It’s him.”

“It’s who?” Sam inquired as both hunters entered the interior of the boat and quickly scanned the area for any kind of threat.

“Crowley,” Kevin responded.

Both hunters turned and stared at the prophet in surprise.

“What about him?”

Kevin slowly approached, one hand holding the frying pan aloft, the other pointing toward himself. Dean couldn’t help but notice the kid looked like crap.

“He’s in my head.”

“He’s in your head?” Sam repeated.

“Do you know what that means?” Kevin’s voice rose, his agitation increasing dramatically.

“Yeah, it means we need to up your anxiety meds,” Dean surmised. “Kevin you’re dreaming. Look, if Crowley knew where you were, he’d do a hell of a lot more than mess with your head.” Dean kept his voice level, hoping a bit of reassurance would be enough to stop the teenager’s imagination from jumping the track. The boat was warded, there was no way Crowley could figure out where the prophet was hiding.

He and Sam had spoken about moving Kevin to the bunker, but didn’t want to chance it as long as he was safe. Maybe it was time to give the move a little more thought. The kid was obviously freaked out. He had dark circles under his eyes, his clothes looked like he’d been wearing them for a week and he’d even managed to grow a little bit of scruff on his chin – quite a feat for an Asian teenager under the gun.

“Where’s Garth?” Sam suddenly asked, finally realizing the awkward hunter was nowhere to be seen.

“On a case,” Kevin shook his head. “Or at the dentist, I don’t know. I haven’t heard from him.”

“OK,” Dean tried to steer the kid back to business, hoping to stop the imminent freak out barreling toward them. “Well, what did you want to tell us you couldn’t say over the phone?” He dropped his eyes, not able to take the kid seriously while he was standing there with something more adept at battling eggs than demons. “And would you put the frying pan down, please.”

Kevin acquiesced, placing the pan back onto the small cook stove to his left. He gave the brothers a haunted look. “I translated the second trial from the tablet.”

Dean and Sam exchanged a look of surprise before turning to watch Kevin walk back over to his desk.

“You crazy prophet, you. Nice work!” Dean enthused, receiving an angry glare in return.

“And if Crowley’s in my head, he knows!”

Dean took a breath. So much for heading the crazy train off at the pass.

“He’s definitely not in your head,” he offered at the same time that Sam gave his assurances.

“He’s not in your head, Kevin. It’s okay. Just… we know you’re stressed, just stay with us.” Kevin didn’t look like he believed them, but his agitation fell a level or two, so Sam continued. “What’s the second trial?”

Kevin answered the question between quick gasps. “An innocent soul has to be rescued from Hell and delivered unto Heaven.”

“What?”

“Unto,” Kevin responded, completely misinterpreting Dean’s surprise for confusion. “That’s… that’s how God talks.”

“Rescue a soul from Hell?” Sam asked, his voice catching at the thought of the place both he and his brother still had nightmares about. “Like… like actually go to Hell? How do you get a soul ‘unto Heaven’? How do you even get a soul out of Hell?”

_“What else could do it?”_

_What? Pull your soul out of the hot box? Nothing I can find.”_

Dean could almost hear Bobby’s voice responding to almost the same question years ago.

“Angels?” he responded with a shrug.

“Great,” Sam said with more than a hint of sarcasm. “Because the one angel who might actually help us has gone off the deep end… again.”

“True.” Dean couldn’t argue with his brother’s assessment, but angels weren’t the only option. He gave Sam a knowing grin. “But I’ve got another idea.”

 

SNSNSNSNSNSNSN

 

 

“I thought that thing burned with everything else at Bobby’s.” Sam remarked as Dean dug into an old box in the trunk of the Impala.

“Actually, never got around to giving it to him,” Dean shrugged as he pulled the small, leather bound book from under a pile of rags. “Thought it might come in handy someday.”

Sam frowned. “Dean, that was years ago.”

The older man shrugged. “Yeah, so?”

“We’ve never even looked at it since we took it from Roy LaGrange’s wife.”

Dean pursed his lips, avoiding his brother’s gaze. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Sam scoffed. “Dean. Bobby may have been able to use the information in that book for some hunt – either for us or someone else.”

Dean simply shrugged, thumbing through the pages of the small, leather bound book.  The book was filled with spells of dark magic, spells that the hunter never wanted to use, but held some insight into certain problems that had come up over the years.  “Bobby had plenty of research books, Sam. It’s not like there was a bright shiny answer in this that he couldn’t find somewhere else.”

Sam shook his head. “And it was of so much more use buried in the trunk of your car?”

“It came in handy.”

“When?”

Dean shifted on his feet, his eyes squinting at the small print in front of him. “What’s it matter?”

Sam tilted his head at his brother’s evasive behavior. “Humor me.”

Dean shot a quick look at his brother. “Fine. An angel and a demon walk into a bar –“

“Dean,” Sam huffed, interrupting the attempt at a dodge.

Dean gave his brother a look of annoyance. “My God, Sam. You are like a dog with a bone.” He let the book fall toward his legs, one finger marking the page he had been searching. “I pulled it out after you jumped into the pit, okay? I figured if it had a way to bind a Reaper, it may have a way into Hell. You happy now?”

Sam’s brows rose in surprise. “Um…” He wasn’t sure what to say. He’d known that Dean hadn’t sat idly by after he’d jumped into Lucifer’s cage. Dean had admitted that right off the bat. Despite Sam’s appeal that he find Lisa and try to live a normal life, Dean had spent plenty of time and energy trying to find a way to get him out. Of course, unknown to Dean, Sam had already been pulled out by Castiel – well most of him anyway – but Dean hadn’t ever really given up on him.

It made Sam ashamed of the fact that he’d given up on Dean so easily.

When Dean had disappeared after skewering Dick Roman, Sam had been in shock. He had been completely alone for the first time, and his mind had gone blank. After retrieving the Impala and getting back on the road, he had convinced himself his brother was dead and gone. He hadn’t looked, he hadn’t questioned the fact that there was no body, no remains. Dean had just gone ‘poof’ and Sam had washed his hands of it all.

What kind of a brother did that make him?

Sure, they had always told each other to move on. To live a life. To try and keep going. But like Dean said when Sam had unexpectedly found him at Rufus’ cabin, they’d always ignored that deal because of their deep and abiding love for each other. Dean had said it with more than a note of sarcasm, but that didn’t make it any less true. Sam had let his brother down. He’d let Kevin down, he’d let everyone who’d ever depended on him down. And he wasn’t sure if it was something he could ever be redeemed for.

That was why it was so important for him to succeed in these trials. He needed to make it up to Dean. He needed to prove that he could be counted on when the going got rough. He knew it was going to be hard. He knew there might not be a light at the end of the tunnel like he’d tried to convince his brother. But he had to try. He owed Dean that much.

Dean, sensing his brother’s train of thought had slipped off the rails, tried to refocus on the matter at hand. “I never actually tried it, but I had an idea of how to get into Hell. I just couldn’t figure out how to get you back out again. If we can figure out how to bind a Reaper, I’m guessing she could give us a little advice.”

“She?” Sam grinned at his brother’s slip.

Dean simply shrugged. “It’s not like we’ve been introduced to a gaggle of Reapers.”

Sam couldn’t help but chuckle. “A group of Reapers is called a gaggle?”

“Gaggle, herd, cluster…” Dean rambled off. “Whatever you want to call it. My point is, I’ve only met one Reaper, besides the Big Cahuna, who seemed to want to have anything to do with us, so…”

Sam chuckled at his brother’s obvious discomfort. “Are we sure this is a good idea? I mean it didn’t work out to well for Sue Ann Granger.”

“Without taking his eyes from the book, Dean tilted his head for a moment. “She was forcing the reaper to kill. We’re just gonna ask her a couple questions. Not the same scenario.” He suddenly straightened as his eyes focused on a page in the book. “Here we go.”

Sam leaned forward and craned his neck, reading the passage over his brother’s shoulder. “Looks do-able,” he admitted. “But will she help us?”

Dean returned his brother’s gaze and smiled. “Only one way to find out.”

 

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

 

The ritual wasn’t as involved as some of the others they’d performed. A few herbs, a Celtic cross they found at an antique store and a couple phrases in Latin and they found themselves face to face with the pretty brunette reaper Dean had met what seemed like a lifetime ago.

She didn’t look pleased.

“You really can’t take a hint, can you, Dean?”

Dean smiled “Good to see you, too, Tessa.”

The reaper looked down, her expression never changing as she noted the chalk outlined ring of symbols surrounding her.

“You were warned that interfering with the natural order again would not bode well for you.”

“That’s why we called you and not your boss.”

Tessa took a deep breath and briefly closed her eyes. Reopening them, she glanced toward Sam before redirecting her gaze to Dean.  “I think he likes you,” she gave him a slight smile. “At least he’s intrigued enough to allow you to get to the point.”

Sam gave him an encouraging look, so Dean continued. “We need a favor.”

Tessa’s brows rose. “I didn’t think I was called here for a tea party.”

Sam’s snicker was silenced by the sharp looks from his brother and their guest. “No. I guess not.” Dean took a deep breath and stepped to the edge of the circle. “We’re kind of in over our heads…”

Tessa nodded. “The trials.” She glanced again at Sam, who shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. “I know.”

“Then you know what we need to do is a little beyond our pay-grade without some help.”

She returned her attention to Dean, nodding slightly. “And what would you ask of me?”

Encouraged, Dean continued. “We need a way into Hell.”

“Simple,” she responded. “Die.”

Dean was aware of his brother’s gasp, but he kept his attention focused on the reaper. “We were hoping for something not so… permanent.”

Tessa allowed a corner of her mouth to shift into a grin. “Death does not seem to be a permanent condition for either of you so far.”

Dean dipped his head in acknowledgement. “True, but this is the second step in a three part program. Kinda need to be alive to finish the show.”

Tessa tilted her own head in acknowledgement.

“You do realize that if you succeed, you make my job that much harder.”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “Harder?”

Tessa rolled her eyes slightly. “Closing the gates of Hell makes it more difficult for me to transport souls that belong there. It won’t be impossible, but definitely more difficult. Why should I help you make my job more complex?”

“Because you like us?” Dean ventured.

Tessa shook her head. “Still delusional as ever.”

Sam stepped forward, standing side by side with his brother. “Look, I know we’re not exactly on your Christmas card list, but wouldn’t the world be a better place without Crowley and his minions wreaking havoc at will? That’s gotta mean something, even to you.”

Tessa looked at him with pity. “Your world’s problems don’t mean anything to my kind, Sam. I’m simply the means to an end. How that end comes about is not my concern.” She turned back to Dean. “But you are right about one thing.”

Dean’s brows rose in question and Tessa smiled.

“I do like you.” Dean’s inquisitive expression was replaced by one of surprise. “You’ve… what’s the term you use? Grown on me.”

“So you’ll help us?” Sam quickly asked, pressing their advantage.

“No,” she responded. “Not directly. But I will send you someone who can.”

Dean held up a hand. “That’s all we ask.”

“I assume you have a plan?” She asked, looking from one brother to the other.

Sam looked to his brother, it was Dean’s plan, he figured Dean should be the one to present it.

“There’s a Devil’s Gate in Wyoming,” Dean offered.

Tessa nodded. “I know of it. Built by a human.”

“Colt,” Dean supplied. “It’s been opened before, but we don’t have the key anymore.”

“And you would like us to open the gate?”

Dean nodded. “Can you?”

“Yes,” she answered matter-of-factly. “You would walk into Hell to accomplish this task?”

Dean looked to Sam who nodded before turning back to the reaper and giving her a one-shouldered shrug. “That’s the job, sweetheart.”

Tessa studied them both for a moment before slightly dipping her head in acknowledgement. “Very well. Be there by this time tomorrow.” She looked down at the circle below her. “If you wouldn’t mind?”

Both brothers stepped back, eyeing the chalk trap holding the Tessa in their realm. Dean shifted a foot to wipe out a portion of the drawing binding her.

As soon as the circle was broken, she disappeared.

“You think she’ll show?” Sam asked after a few moments. The air in the room was still charged with an unnatural electricity that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Dean looked around and slowly closed the book he’d been holding. “I hope so.”

 

TBC


	2. Act II

**Act II**

 

One of the advantages of never knowing what kind of fuglies you might run into was that you tended to keep a small arsenal within reaching distance at all times. The Impala’s trunk was well stocked, but since it was on the way, they had been able to stop at the bunker just long enough to load up whatever extra weapons they thought they might need and catch a few hours of shut-eye. Throughout the years, they’d had to survive on little to no sleep when the situation called for it. Because of that, they’d learned to grab whatever rest they could whenever they could take a moment. The trials were important, but according to Tessa, they had 24 hours to make a 13 hour drive, and that left them a little wiggle room.

Dean knew his brother was still affected by whatever had zapped through him after the first trial. Despite Sam’s attempt at bravado, a lifetime of reading his brother made him understand just how hard Sam was trying not to show how freaked out he really was.

But Sam had promised to survive these trials, and Dean had no intention of letting him renege on that promise. If Sam’s ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ turned out to be a charging freight train, Dean would be right there to push him off the tracks.

Even if it killed him.

He still wasn’t okay with how things had worked out. It was supposed to be him. Sam was the one who was supposed to survive. Sam was the one who could walk away from this life.

The thought of that filled him with relief and disappointment at the same time. Relieved that one of them might actually have a chance to grow old, have kids, bounce their grandkids on their knee. The year Sam spent with Amelia was proof that it was possible… for Sam at least. But the year Sam had spent with her was a year Dean had spent fighting for his life – fighting to find a way to return home to a brother who had already let him go.

If he was honest with himself, he had to admit it still rankled that Sam hadn’t even tried to look for him. Sure, they’d promised each other they wouldn’t, but that was a promise Dean didn’t ever believe either of them would keep. Apparently Sam had thought different.

And it hurt.

It hurt to know his brother didn’t value him as much as he valued Sam.

But there was little he could do about it now. Despite everything, he was determined to make sure his brother had a chance at whatever kind of life he wanted to live – whether it was the family business or not. That was the only reason he had finally agreed to let Sam do these trials. It may take a toll on the younger man, but Sam was strong. And if he was as determined to show Dean they could survive it, then Dean wasn’t about to contradict him. Dean would do whatever it took to make sure his brother lived a long, healthy life. Because, after everything, one of them deserved the chance.

Dean was under no illusion about his own prospects for the future. He knew who and what he was. Even if they did manage to close the gates and trap all demons in Hell forever, it wasn’t really going to change things. There would still be monsters to hunt, people to save, evil to kill.

Regardless of Sam’s pretty speech back at Southfork, Dean knew there was no ‘light at the end of the tunnel’. At least not for him.

He was a hunter.

Purgatory had helped him finally come to terms with that. He was good at it and it was all he knew. Surprisingly, he had realized he was okay with that. What he had said to Sam still held true; he would die with a gun in his hand. Sam believed he was suicidal, but the he knew he was only being realistic. One day his luck would run out and the fugly would win, but he’d take a shitload of them down before then.

He glanced across the seat. Sam was out cold, his head lolling against the Impala’s window. Sam had nodded off not long after they’d hopped onto I-80 in Nebraska. Dean had been surprised he’d made it that long. The monotonous Midwest landscape, coupled with the lingering effects of the first trial had finally pulled him into a much needed sleep. Dean had kept the radio off, allowing the hum of the Impala’s wheels to keep him company as the miles rolled by, hoping his brother could get the rest he needed in order to keep his strength up for the second trial.

A few miles before Rawlins, Dean turned onto the exit and guided the big Chevy onto a frontage road that eventually turned from asphalt to deeply rutted dirt as it headed away from the heavier traffic and out into the countryside. The change in terrain caused Sam to stir and, as Dean turned toward the familiar sight of the old cowboy cemetery, he sat up and stretched his arms in front of him.

“We here already?”

“Yep. No thanks to your scintillating conversation.”

Sam threw his brother a sheepish look. “Sorry, man. Guess the power nap back at the bunker wasn’t enough.”

Dean simply nodded, letting Sam know it was no big deal. Most of the time, the open road and the familiar purr of his baby’s engine was all the conversation he needed.

Dean pulled the Impala up to the edge of the dirt road, eyeing the bright yellow taxi cab parked along the other side. The cab looked completely out of place way out here in the middle of nowhere, as did the man standing beside it.

The driver – Dean assumed – was of obvious middle-eastern descent. He was short, wiry with dark hair and skin and deep-set eyes. He paid them no mind as the big black car pulled in across from him, continuing to munch on what looked to the hunters like a hard shell taco.

The Winchesters exchanged a quick look of amusement before simultaneously opening the doors and stepping out onto the packed earth. Dean waited for Sam to come around the front of the car before he mirrored the cab driver’s stance and leaned back against the front fender of the Impala. Sam leaned a hip against the front grill and watched as the man slowly pulled a napkin from his pocket and dabbed at the corners of his mouth.

Dean turned his head, his eyes wide, and Sam shrugged. He nodded his head toward the cab driver, silently telling the older man to take the lead.

“Uh, you waiting on a fare, pal?” Dean called across the short distance. “I think you may have misread your GPS.”

The diver smiled in return, acknowledging their presence for the first time. “Actually, I was on my lunch break.” His voice was soft, with a hint of a European accent. “But since you inquired, I’m here as a favor to a friend.”

“This friend,” Dean held up a hand about shoulder height. “She wouldn’t be about yay high, hot in a girl-next-door kind of way?”

The man’s smile widened and he nodded slowly. “On occasion.” He held out a hand and stepped out onto the packed dirt road. “I’m Ajay. And you are Dean and Sam Winchester.” He tilted his head toward each of them in turn. Dean took his hand then silently watched as he turned to Sam and offered the same greeting.

“You’re a reaper?” Sam inquired. “Why can we see you? I thought only the dead could see reapers unless summoned?”

“Usually,” Ajay replied. “But sometimes we like to… get to know our clientele on their own turf, so to speak.” He motioned behind him to the bright yellow taxi cab. “People tend to not notice a taxi driver. I can observe without interfering.”

“Awesome,” Dean cut in with impatience. “You know who we are?”

“Of course!” Ajay said enthusiastically. He leaned closer and lowered his voice as if telling a secret. “The name Winchester is whispered around the office water cooler quite often.”

“That’s so not comforting,” Dean muttered under his breath. “So if you know who we are, you know why we’re here?” He waved a hand off to the side, indicating the graveyard and the large mausoleum fronted by the ominous metal door that stood in the center.

It had been years since they’d been here, but the memory of seeing their father, free from the confines of Hell, standing before them for the final time, still brought up feelings of wonder and loss that threatened to choke him. It had been a long time ago, but some things you just can’t put behind you. Dean cleared his throat and dipped his head, hoping Sam hadn’t caught the fleeting look of anguish he knows fluttered across his face.

Ajay nodded again in answer. “Of course. You want to go to Hell.”

When he said it out loud it sounded crazy. Nobody _wanted_ to go to Hell. Yet here they were, asking a reaper to open a Devil’s Gate to do just that.

He turned to his brother, who took a shaky breath but held his gaze. Dean could read the determination in Sam’s eyes, just as Sam could see the resolve in his. As one, they turned back to the reaper and answered.

“Yes.”

Ajay sighed as if he’d been hoping for a different outcome. He leaned back against the cab and scanned them both. “Smuggling a mortal across the border is risky enough, but gate-crashing a Winchester into Hell seriously blows.”

Dean found himself wondering just what kind of reputation they’d managed to acquire in supernatural circles. “You know that about us from the water cooler gossip?”

Ajay chuckled and waved a hand. “No, no. I do have some first hand knowledge of the two of you. Of course you wouldn’t recognize me, though.”

Sam stepped around the car and leaned back next to his brother. “Have we met?”

“Not exactly.” Ajay stood straight and gave the hunters a slight bow. “I’m the reaper who took Bobby Singer’s soul to Hell.”

Dean took a step toward the reaper, stopping when Sam’s hand jetted out to grab his arm. “Hell?” The older man repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “Bobby spent his life saving people. He didn’t go to the basement. He took the express elevator to the penthouse.”

There was no way the hunters could accept that their mentor had been sent to Hell. He’d gotten Crowley to release him from his deal and they’d burned his bones and the flask, knowing he was going to someplace better. Bobby was one of the good guys. If he hadn’t gone up the escalator then…

“Sometimes things don’t work out the way they’re supposed to.” Ajay spread his hands as if to say _‘what can you do?’_ “Especially when the King of Hell decides to interfere.”

“Crowley,” Dean growled. He really hated that limey bastard. “Since when do reapers take orders from that sleazy leprechaun?”

“We don’t,” Ajay assured them. “But unfortunately, he is powerful. And, when he’s in an exceedingly devilish mood, he makes it impossible to continue the journey. I’m afraid, he truly wanted your friend as a guest and he didn’t take no for an answer.”

“What about your boss’s big speech about the natural order?” Death had delivered a warning to Dean before he had put Sam’s soul back into his walking corpse. He didn’t sound like he appreciated anyone screwing with his handiwork. He doubted he’d welcome Crowley’s interference any more than theirs.

Ajay shrugged. “I’m sure Death will have a word with Mr. Crowley… whenever he finds the time.”

And in the meantime, Bobby’s soul is trapped in Hell. No. That wasn’t going to work for Dean. He knew they had to right this wrong. Luckily, it made their current task a little easier. They now knew what innocent soul to save.

“Fine,” Dean shook off his brother’s hand and took another step toward the reaper. “We’ll take two tickets down and three on the return trip.”

“No.”

Sam grabbed Dean’s arm again and tugged, forcing him back around the car, away from the reaper.

“No?” Dean asked, obviously confused by Sam’s interruption. “What the hell do you mean, no?”

Sam huffed in annoyance, his voice tight as he explained. “We can’t take the chance, Dean. You heard Kevin. This is the second trial. I have to do this solo!”

Dean shook his head and pushed his brother’s hand away. “Are you nuts?” He didn’t even bother to temper his reaction. “Did you just hear what he said? This is Bobby we’re talking about!”

Sam held up a hand and tried to get his brother to see reason. “I know that, but this is too important to let our emotions screw it up, Dean –“

“Our emotions?” Dean shook his head, his voice rising with agitation. “Are you listening to yourself? I am not letting you walk into Hell alone, Sam. That’s just stupid.” He screwed up his face as he continued. “And you think I’m the suicidal one?”

Sam opened his mouth to argue, but Dean cut him off with a fierce shake of his head. “Uh uh. Forget it. It’s Bobby. There is no way you can expect me to sit this one out, Sam. Besides, it’s Hell, man. It’s not like a B&E at Walmart. You can’t do this alone. And even if you could, I’m not going to let you.”

Sam was staring hard at his brother, but he was obviously considering his words.

“Look,” Dean continued, his voice back to its normal pitch. “Crowley still has the other half of the tablet, right? Odds are he has it stashed somewhere downstairs. When are we gonna get another chance to search Hell? Huh?”  He could see his brother was starting to come around, so he pressed the advantage. “You find Bobby, I’ll look for the tablet and run interference with Crowley and his goons to give you a better chance.”

Sam took a slow breath but finally nodded. “Fine. But you don’t take any unnecessary chances.” He pointed a finger at Dean like a scolding parent. “Do not get in a pissing match with Crowley. Agreed?”

Dean quickly nodded, his face breaking into a grin. “I’ll be the perfect uninvited houseguest.” He slapped his brother on the shoulder and turned his attention back to the reaper who was studying his fingernails, trying hard to appear as if he hadn’t heard a thing.

“You catch all that, Ahab?”

If the reaper was offended by the nickname, he didn’t show it. “Two tickets to Hell it is.”

 

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

 

It was like dropping into a fun house. They found themselves in a long, dark hallway, tall metal doors lining each side. The floor seemed to undulate, causing both brothers to reach for the nearest wall for balance. Looking down, Dean realized it wasn’t the floor moving at all. They stood on pitch black carpet, decorated with overlapping orange flames that seemed to rise into the distance. The carpet seemed to dance as it narrowed in perspective, like a blistering heat shimmering above a distant asphalt road. It was an effective illusion, but an illusion nonetheless.

“Well that’s nauseating.”

Dean turned to his brother, grinning as he noticed the slight green tinge to Sam’s face.

“It’s no worse than the Tilt-A-Whirl we went on when you were ten.”

“I threw up all over Dad the minute I got off that ride.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, I remember. We had to ride home with all the windows down just to keep the stink out. That was awesome.” He swallowed hard, trying to keep his own stomach from flip-flopping due to the false impression of movement his eyes were sending it. “Just breathe deep, Sammy, and keep your eyes on the walls. You’ll be fine.”

Sam shot his brother a look of doubt, but did as he was told. Dean was pleased to see his unattractive greenish complexion begin to turn back to whiter shade of pale.

After taking a moment to catch his breath and adjust to the underlying stench of sulfur that drifted in the air, Sam wearily nodded his readiness and they slowly began to move down the pulsating hallway, one on each side. They each kept one hand on the smooth, paneled wall, their senses focused on each door as they passed. The doors were riveted metal with no handles or knobs, marred only by a small sliding window at the top. They could hear the muffled sounds of distress coming from the opposite sides; screams, moans, sobs… making them unwilling to open one of the windows to witness the horrific suffering they knew was taking place.

Dean remembered those sounds all too well. It wasn’t like he was ever going to forget his own screams combining with the anguished cries of other tortured souls as he lay trapped on Alistair’s rack. He sometimes envied his brother the fact his recollections of Hell weren’t as vivid thanks to Castiel’s intervention. Not that he wished for Sam to remember any of the pain he went through while his soul was locked inside Lucifer’s cage, but Dean himself would give anything to be able to forget.

They came to an intersection and, as their eyes adjusted to the dim light, they noticed the hallways branched out repeatedly, creating an endless, sinister labyrinth. 

“It’s like a freaking maze of hallways,” Sam observed, his voice a hushed whisper.  “This is so not good.”

Dean dug into his pocket and pulled out the piece of chalk they’d used to draw Tessa’s trap and tossed it to his brother. “Here, mark the walls so we can find our way back.”

Sam quickly drew a small arrow, pointing in the direction they had come.

“Which way?” he asked. His eyes roamed the multitude of hallways, at a loss as to a course of action. Every direction looked the same, and the never-ending stream of monotony made his stomach turn. “How are we going to find Bobby down here?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Dean shrugged. “You think Crowley has some kind of map for this freakin’ web? How the hell does he keep track of who’s where?”

It was Sam’s turn to shrug. “I don’t know. But it’s probably pretty likely. He’s always seemed like the neat and orderly type to me.”

“Okay,” Dean took a deep breath and stepped out into the center of the intersecting hallways. “We look for the map room. Don’t suppose he was nice enough to label it for us, do you?”

Sam snorted a laugh. “When do we ever get that lucky?”

The older hunter’s brows twitched in agreement. He turned to Sam, a childlike grin playing on his lips. “You know, I kind of feel like Indiana Jones.”

Before Sam could remind his him of the seriousness of their situation, Dean caught sight of movement further down the intersecting hallway. Despite the low light, he was pretty sure the three burly figures now barreling in his direction were part of Hell’s standard welcoming committee.

“Uh oh.”

“What?” Sam was still standing in the original hallway, out of sight of the new arrivals. As he started to crane his neck to peek around the corner, Dean held up a hand and shook his head, indicating his brother should stay back. The demons had already seen him, but Sam was still undetected.

He held up a hand as if greeting an old friend. “Hey guys!” He shouted, smiling and waving his extended hand. The other hand moved slowly toward the knife in his belt. “Think maybe I could bother you for some directions?”

Sam could tell the demons were approaching quickly, the sounds of their footsteps echoing off the narrow walls. He started to move to flank his brother, but Dean pushed him back before taking off in the opposite direction.

“Find Bobby!” he shouted as he turned down another hallway.

Sam tucked himself into the slight alcove of the nearest doorway, watching as the three demons dashed past in pursuit of his brother. Quickly stepping out into the intersection, he watched as they turned and hurried down the hallway Dean had disappeared into only moments before. Soon the sounds of the chase diminished and he was left standing alone.

“Idiot,” Sam whispered, with more affection than venom in his voice. Turning he began to jog down the hallway in the opposite direction, following his brother’s order.

 

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNS

 

Sam couldn’t help but chuckle as he tucked himself into another small alcove, letting the two demons dash past him. He’d come across a few of Crowley’s guards as he dashed in and out of hallways, each one seeming more agitated than the last. It was obvious Dean was creating quite a stir and he hoped his brother’s luck didn’t run out before he found something that could help them navigate this maze.

He shook his head at his brother’s not unexpected recklessness, but couldn’t help the grin that lifted the corners of his mouth when he remembered the sheer glee on Dean’s face as he started his game of evasion. When he put his mind to it, Dean Winchester could be a colossal pain in the ass. Sam had heard Dean’s taunts echoing through the halls as he progressed into the maze, his favorite so far being a reference to the three stooges. Dean was putting his natural talent for pissing off the monsters they hunted to good use. He just hoped his brother’s tactics held up long enough for Sam to complete the second trial.

As he started down another hallway, he noticed a door at the far end that seemed to be different from all the rest. This door was made of a rich, dark wood that reminded Sam of an antique mahogany dresser Jessica had had when they’d moved in together. What looked like a human jawbone served as a knocker and was attached to the top portion of the door. Sam grimaced as he approached, unconsciously ducking his head and shoulders away from the gruesome ornamentation.

He gave the door a tentative push, surprised when the heavy wood moved under his efforts. He pushed a bit more, silently slipping into the room beyond, just as another group of demons ran through the hallway directly across. As the staccato sounds of pursuit faded, Sam let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and turned to survey the room.

It was an office.

Correction; it was the most elaborately, gloomy and tastelessly decorated office Sam had ever seen.

The room was dark, wood paneling making it seem closed in even though it was quite large. There were shelves on every wall, filled with jars and figures that gave him the creeps just looking at them. An oversized, wooden desk made from the same richly-hued wood as the door dominated the area. It stood on carved legs that resembled human skeletons, twisted into painful positions Sam wasn’t even sure were possible. The gleaming surface of the desk was bare except for an old-fashioned brass lamp and one small cube of post-it notes. A chair was pushed up to the desk, its frame covered in a faded leather that reminded Sam of human skin. He suppressed a shudder at the thought that it actually was.

The darkness of the walls gave the room an ominous, claustrophobic feel that made it hard to breathe. A lit fireplace filled the far wall casting flickering shadows that seemed to lurch and reach for him from around the room. The wooden mantle featured another elaborate carving of unnaturally twisted human bones that raised the hairs on the back of the hunter’s neck. Elaborately framed scenes of torture and abuse adorned the walls and, above the fireplace, hung a painting of the ugliest dog Sam had ever seen. The Hellhound was at least twice as large as the one they’d encountered, and Sam found himself thankful they hadn’t had to tangle with the monster depicted in the painting.

In the corner of the room, almost invisible in murky darkness, was another door. This one was much smaller and less elaborate than the one Sam had entered through. He silently tip-toed across the blood red carpet and pushed against the second door, allowing it to open just enough for him to stick his head through.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Pushing the door open further, Sam slid his body through and gaped at the cavernous room before him. It looked like a warehouse, stark and bare, except for the hundreds upon hundreds of metal filing cabinets set in rows that disappeared into the room’s distant shadows.

“Hell has a filing system,” he chuckled, his eyes taking in the expanse of the room. Carefully, he stepped across the open floor to the first row of cabinets and bent down to read the engraved label attached to the first one.

**Aa-Ab**

He straightened, placing one hand on top of the cold metal and looked out into the distance, wondering just how many millions of names were filed away in this room.

“Keep them busy, Dean,” he muttered to his absent brother as he started down the main aisle. “This may take a while.”

 

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

 

Keeping ahead of the demons wasn’t really hard, but running for such a prolonged period of time, keeping them moving further and further away from where he’d left his brother was beginning to take a toll on Dean’s stamina. He was in good shape – for a guy whose only exercise was running for his life and fighting monsters on a daily basis, but with his stomach flip flopping from the nauseating carpet coupled with the smell of rotten eggs that seemed to come from everywhere, Dean wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep going.

He ducked into another identical hallway, knowing he was hopelessly lost. He’d only managed to mark the first few walls on his mad dash, but had quickly realized the futility of the act. There was no way he was going to be able to figure out which direction the demon dash had taken him. He could only hope his normally reliable innate sense of direction worked in this realm as well as it did upstairs.

The metal doors were staggered in the hallways, each facing an alcove, some empty, some housing old, decaying bones, remnants of prisoners who had ceased to care about their predicament long ago.  Dean tucked into an alcove, breathing hard and tried to focus on the staccato beat of his pursuers echoing in the corridor. He pressed himself back into the shadows, holding his breath as the running footsteps approached, releasing it with a slow hiss as they passed right by his hiding place without a pause. He slumped against the wall and swallowed hard, thankful that Crowley obviously recruited his goons on the basis of brawn and not brains. He had no idea how many demons were chasing him, but as long as he could keep them focused on him, Sam had a chance to find out where they had stashed Bobby’s soul. Dean had no idea if his brother was still roaming free or if he’d already been snagged by Crowley’s thugs, but he had to believe that despite whatever the first trial had taken from him, Sam was up to the task. He surmised if anyone could figure out how to find one soul in this mess of a network, it was his geek brother.

Of course, even if Sam did find Bobby and was able to get back the Devil’s Gate, there was no way Dean would know unless he could find his own way back. He kept telling himself he would be able to figure it out, but he wasn’t really buying it. He’d been well aware, as had Sam, that this could be a one-way trip. Neither of them had said anything out loud, Sam because he didn’t want Dean to think he was weak and Dean…well… he hadn’t wanted to hear his brother’s ‘suicide speech’ again. It was a tough gig. Sometimes you won and sometimes… well, sometimes you ended up in Hell, running from demons with no fucking idea which way to go.

Dean didn’t relish the thought of spending the rest of his probably very short life in this sulfur infused cesspool, but if that was the price for giving Sam the chance to succeed, it was a fair trade. If saving Bobby’s soul and closing the gates of Hell meant his life was forfeit, well, that was the job. And Dean would consider it a worthwhile trade. His brother didn’t have the market cornered on this hero stuff, after all. Besides, he’d already used up way more get-out-of-death-free cards than any human being had the right to expect. So if his life was the price to save millions, he could live with that.

Sam would probably argue and tell him he was an idiot. That they deserved to survive and live long, happy lives. But that was the difference between them. Dean lived day by day, not asking for or expecting any promise of tomorrow. Sam wanted assurances that tomorrow would be there. It was a lesson Dean had learned well in Purgatory. Nobody owed him anything – not even a fighting chance.

The sounds of returning footsteps brought his thoughts back to the situation at hand. He knew if the demons turned down the hallway his alcove was in he would be discovered, but breaking his meager cover now would expose him and he was nearing the end of his endurance.

Eyeing the grey metal door directly across from his hiding place, he quickly made a decision. Better to deal with whatever was behind that door, than keep wandering aimlessly through this maze. If he could lay low long enough, maybe they would think he’d escaped and move on. He wanted to give Sam more time, but he couldn’t run forever. Sooner or later he’d take a wrong turn or find himself trapped between oncoming pursuits, and then he’d really be screwed. As lost as he was, he couldn’t take the chance of ending up too far from where he’d started, or that permanent vacation in Hell would become a serious possibility. Winchester luck withstanding, he didn’t want to press it.

Dean stuck his head out of the alcove, quickly checking the hallway to make sure the coast was clear. In two giant steps he was standing in front of the door, both hands on the unexpectedly warm metal. There was no sound emanating from the room beyond, and with a deep breath, he steeled himself for whatever was on the other side and pushed his way through.

Once the door snicked closed, Dean found himself in utter darkness save for a small, flickering torch to the right of the doorway. The meager light from the torch didn’t penetrate the oppressive darkness, illuminating only the doorway and a few feet beyond. Dean kept his ear close to the metal, surprised at the unexpected heat radiating from it. He could make out the muffled sounds of the demons as they searched the hallway he had ducked down. They paused for a moment and exchanged a few words before splitting and heading off in different directions. Once silence pervaded, Dean turned and put his back to the door and allowed his fatigue to finally surface. He sank to the ground, his jacket catching on the rough metal, and landed on his butt, both knees bent. He rested his forearms across his knees and let his head fall back against the door.

Demon dashing was hard work. He was content to simply sit in the dark and let his body recover from the workout he’d just inflicted on it. He concentrated on his breathing. Normally he’d breathe in through his nose, but the stench of sulfur was still lurking in the air and he didn’t think his stomach would appreciate the extra helping. As his heartbeat began to slow, he contemplated his next move.

“Help me.”

Dean’s breath caught in his throat and his head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as he attempted to see through the inky blackness.

“Please.”

Dean’s head swiveled, his gaze locked on a spot in the far left corner of the room. His ears had pinpointed the location of the soft plea, but his other senses were hampered by the conditions surrounding him.

“Hello?” he called, his voice low. He could make out a shape, darker than the surrounding shadows, huddled on the floor about twenty feet from where he sat. He squinted through the shadows, watching as the shape moved slightly, beseeching him again.

“Help me.” It sounded like a woman, but Dean couldn’t be sure. The voice was broken, scratchy. It was barely audible, so filled with pain and misery that it set his teeth on edge.

Slowly he forced himself up, his eyes never straying from the figure. He pulled the torch from the wall and held it high, directing the dim, flickering light toward the far corner. He took a few steps forward, the light breaking the gloom in a circle around him.

“Hello?”

“Leave me.” This time the voice was crying.

As Dean carefully approached, he ducked down, finally falling to one knee when he was within sight of the figure.

She was old. How old, Dean couldn’t even guess. She was emaciated, painfully thin arms and legs tucked close to her sides. She wore nothing more than a brown cloth tunic that looked as if it hadn’t been washed in years. Her skin was almost chalk white, and her hair, gray streaked with white, was matted and hung in clumps from her skull.

The old woman flinched as Dean brought the torch near. She kept her head tucked down, holding up a feeble arm to ward off the light. A rusty cuff encircled her wrist, and Dean could see the chain that attached it to the wall behind her. The woman’s arms were so frail, she could have easily slid her entire hand from the cuff.

“I won’t hurt you,” Dean said in a soft voice. He held the flame higher, and hunkered down directly in front of the woman. She had obviously been here, alone in this isolated cell a very long time. Dean had been tortured on his tour of Hell, never left alone for a moment, always being taunted by Alistair in an attempt to break him. He wasn’t sure which fate was worse.

“I’m Dean,” he offered, ducking his head in an attempt to make eye contact.

“Dean,” the woman repeated.

The hunter nodded. “Right,” he tapped his hand to his chest. “That’s me. Dean.” He pointed at her. “What’s your name?”

She lifted her head slightly, light from the flame flickering over her skeletal features. “Leave.”

“Well, um, that’s kind of a problem right now.”

“Leave!”

Dean held his hand in front of him, “Okay, okay! Just take it easy.”

“Leave!” she screamed, stretching toward him, causing him to fall back in surprise. Her eyes opened and Dean could see a black mist swirling in them. The ebony swirls ebbed and flowed, mesmerizing the hunter until his brain finally realized what he was seeing.

This woman was becoming a demon.

The transformation wasn’t complete. At least not yet. Dean could still see the whites of her human eyes shining through as the inky blackness swirled. The effect was like looking through an old fashioned kaleidoscope, but with all the colors changed to jet black.

He’d seen souls like this before. When he had become Alistair’s apprentice. Souls who had been in Hell so long, they had given up any pretense of humanity and started to become demonic. He had no idea how long it took – whether it took thousands of years or was different for every soul. He’d never seen his own eyes and it frightened him to think that eventually, if it wasn’t for Cas, they could’ve looked just like hers.

Or worse.

“Leave! Leave! Leave!!” She was screaming now, spittle flying from her mouth and she bared yellowed teeth at him. She lurched forward, forcing Dean to scuttle backwards toward the door. He didn’t want to stay in the room with the crazy old bitch any more than she wanted him there.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, although he was certain his words went unheard. It pained him, but he knew there was nothing he could do for this woman. She was too far gone. If he still had Ruby’s knife, he could put her out of her misery, but he’d given it to Sam. Besides the thought of killing her while she sat there so broken, unaware of what was happening to her, made his stomach turn. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to do it. Not here. Not like this.

The woman continued to scream and growl at him as he pushed himself up and jammed the torch back into the hole in the wall. The noise she was making could wake the damned.

He opened the door and took one last look at the wretched soul in the shadows.

He felt more than saw the fist coming straight toward his head.

Then the blackness was complete.

 

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

 

Crowley looked down at the crumpled form of Dean Winchester and sighed. “I hate it when people come to visit without calling first. It’s bad manners.” He flicked a hand to the large, muscular demon that had sucker punched the hunter the moment he’d opened the cell door. “Take him to the VIP accommodations,” he instructed. “And do keep your eyes open. Where there’s a squirrel, there’s usually a moose.”

 

TBC


	3. Act III

Act III

Sam leaned down, shining his small penlight on the sliding window of the nearest door. Once he’d figured out where to look for the symbols, the maze had been much easier to navigate. Each door was marked with a small etching of a shape and Roman numeral. 

It has taken him a bit of time to find the correct cabinet in the massive file room, but once he located it, it was simple to find Bobby’s file. He found himself thanking Crowley for being so meticulous in his record keeping. There had been twenty-five files under the name Robert Steven Singer. Most of them had been bursting with forms and paperwork, but one had been mysteriously thin. When he’d opened it, Sam had found one slip of parchment. On it, in black ink was a diamond and the roman numerals IVI.

Bobby’s cell number.

It had to be. 

He’d quickly pocketed the parchment and slipped back out of the file room and Crowley’s office. The sounds of his brother’s chase had died, the hallways eerily silent as he made his way back the way he had come. His heart skipped a beat as the thought of Dean being captured flittered through his head, but he quickly dismissed it, trusting the older man to have the situation under control. He couldn’t let fear for Dean distract him from his mission.

Dean would be fine, he told himself. Dean was always fine.

After what seemed like hours of searching, Sam finally came upon a door with the diamond symbol. Following the hallway, he kept watch on the numerals until he was standing in front of the door marked IVI.

Like the rest, there was no handle or knob, so Sam gave it a push, finding it unlocked like the others. As he stepped into the room, the odor sulfur intensified, almost overwhelming him. There was dirty straw on the floor, and the walls were made of stained concrete. His eyes honed in on the figure standing across the room, its back turned, its focus on the sunless, barred window.

“Bobby?”

The figure turned around and Sam’s breath caught in his throat. It was Bobby – or at least the embodiment of his soul -- complete with leather jacket and trucker cap. The man looked horrible, red rimmed eyes, pale gray complexion, but Sam wasn’t surprised. He had been locked away in Hell for more than a year. It wasn’t like he was vacationing at Club Med.

The older man took a step toward him and swung, catching him with a firm right hook on his cheek. Sam staggered back, partly because of the blow, partly in shock that it had been thrown at all.

“Get the hell out of here, you black-eyed son-of-a-bitch!” Bobby’s eyes were hard, his face showing nothing but contempt.

Rubbing his tender face, Sam held up his other hand to ward off any more oncoming blows. “What? Bobby it’s me!”

“Yeah, and I’m Elvis. Move your ass!”

Sam held up both hands in surrender, his voice rising in incredulity. “Bobby –“

“Get!”

“It’s me!” he tried again. He straightened and looked at his old friend imploringly. There was no telling what kind of tortures Bobby had been forced to endure all this time. It wasn’t much of a stretch to believe that some of that torture had been wearing his face. “Okay, damnit, if it’s not Sam, then how do I know about you and Tori Spelling?”

“What?”

That got the old hunter’s attention.

“You’re a fan,” Sam continued hastily. “Yeah, or…or… okay what about your free pedicure at the Mall of America? You made Dean swear to never tell another living soul how it changed your life.”

The two men stood silently for a moment, each assessing the other. Sam could see the exact moment Bobby decided he was truly him.

“Sam?”

Bobby lurched forward at the same moment Sam stepped fully into the cell, crushing the younger man in a much welcome bear hug.

“I’m sorry, boy,” Bobby gave him a sad smile as he released him and took a small step back. “But you’re the 200th Sam I’ve seen today. That’s how they screw with me. Just endless Sams and Deans all wearin’ the same black eyes.” He paused a moment, frowning in concern. “Wait a minute. What the hell are you doing here? Please don’t tell me it’s what I think it is.”

Sam shook his head quickly. “No! No, Bobby. I’m good. I’m here to get you.” He let his head dropped so he could look his friend in the eye. “You don’t belong here, Bobby.” He pulled out the demon knife and smiled. “We’re here to get you out.”

Bobby’s shoulders lowered in relief, a grin lifting his mouth. He looked around, behind Sam and the grin turned to a frown. “You said ‘we’. Where’s your brother?”

Sam snorted a laugh. “Running interference with Crowley’s welcoming committee.” He noticed the apprehension that suddenly appeared on Bobby’s face. “Bobby? What?”

The older man shook his head slightly. “I don’t know… it’s just… a little while ago. A couple of Crowley’s thugs came by here draggin’ a body. I thought…”

Sam waited a moment before prompting him to continue. “You thought what?”

The older man’s expression changed to one of despair. “You gotta understand, Sam, they’ve been using you boys against me every damn day…”

Sam grabbed him by the shoulders, fear for his brother trumping his concern for Bobby’s condition. “You thought what, Bobby? What did you see? Was it Dean?”

“I didn’t know you boys were really here, Sam! I just thought they were messing with me. You know, business as usual!”

Sam could see Bobby was getting agitated, kicking himself for not realizing Dean had been real. He quickly calmed himself. “I know, I know,” he intoned, hoping to keep both of them from panic. He’d known all along that Dean being caught was a distinct possibility. Hell, he thought both of them would’ve been nabbed by now. And he knew exactly what his brother would say – get Bobby the hell out. Complete the trial.

But there was no way Sam was leaving his brother down here. Not this time. Not after Purgatory. Either they both walked out and freed Bobby’s soul, or neither of them would.

Swallowing hard, he firmly grasped the knife and straightened his shoulders. “Which direction did they take him?”

 

SNSNSNSNSNSN

 

Dean became aware of an agonizing burn in his shoulders as he slowly stuttered back into consciousness. As his groggy mind filled in the blanks, he realized the ache was a result of his arms being stretched above his head, the weight of his body pulling on the stressed joints. He could still smell the stench of sulfur, and feel the heat pressing down on him, smothering him, his senses reminding him of his current location. He lifted his head, blinking his eyes into focus.

Hell. It was Hell, again. He swallowed thickly.

He was stripped to his t-shirt and jeans, suspended in the center of a room – one that looked frighteningly familiar. Various torture devices littered the large, sweltering space and he shivered, flashes of pain and fear sifting through his mind. He was distressingly familiar with each and every one of the macabre devices, both as a victim and an aggressor. He wasn’t sure which one of those descriptions terrified him the most.

“I see you’re familiar with your accommodations.”

Dean turned his head to the right as Crowley pushed himself off the gated opening to the room and slowly prowled around the hunter. He stopped directly in front of Dean, an innocent grin playing on his features. “I thought you might enjoy seeing the old digs.”

Dean didn’t trust himself to speak. Just being inside this chamber reminded him of the horrors he had witnessed and experienced at the hands of Hell’s most sadistic torturer. He tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry, the memories threatening to paralyze him. He forced himself to control his breathing, clenching his jaws in an effort to keep himself from gasping in anguish. He settled for sending a murderous glare toward the pompous King of Hell instead.

Crowley wasn’t fooled, his delight in Dean’s distress palpable. “Of course, I’m sure you remember these delightful toys from your time with Alistair, hmm?”

Tying fervently to ignore Crowley’s taunts, Dean focused on the two hulking demons who had entered the gate, walking around on either side of him until they disappeared from his view. His eyes traveled back and forth, his senses on edge not being able to see the goons behind him. 

“Dean, Dean, Dean…” Crowley continued as if they were having a drink at the local pub. “How did we end up here? I thought you and I had a productive working relationship. You and your brother go about your business, I go about mine…. You know, an amiable co-existence between professionals.”

“Screw you, Crowley.”

“Is that all you have, Squirrel?” Crowley laughed, pushing Dean’s defenses into high gear. The demon leaned in and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I’m rather embarrassed for you, Dean. I’ve told my friends here what a worthwhile sparring partner you have been. I don’t think you’re truly selling the act.”

Crowley nodded his head at one of the demons standing out of the hunter’s line of sight, and the thug delivered a vicious punch to Dean’s kidney. The blow forced his body forward, causing him to sway like a punching bag at the end of a tether. He bit back a groan, not allowing himself to give Crowley the satisfaction of seeing him suffer.

“Really?” He grinned, his breath coming in harsh pants as he downplayed the pain. “A punch to the kidney? Don’t you think that’s a little cliché?”

Crowley shrugged easily. “I was going for effect.” He twirled a finger and one of the demons reached out, stopping Dean’s body from swinging. “Now that we have the amenities taken care of, we can get down to business.” The King of Hell adjusted his tie then placed his hands behind him and squared his shoulders. “Why have you dropped by my little corner of the world?” He raised his rows, as if asking Dean the time of day.

“Would you believe I wanted to see what you’ve done with the place since my last visit?”

Crowley’s smile widened, but his eyes grew colder. “So we’re going to play this game, are we? “ He shook his head in and took a step closer to the hunter, careful to stay out of range of his feet and legs. “I’m disappointed, Dean. I was hoping we could do this in a more… congenial manner.” He nodded again to the demons and Dean squeezed his eyes shut, his body tensing in response as blow after blow rained down on his back and sides. 

When the punching stopped, a meaty hand in his hair forced his head up and he opened his eyes to see Crowley inches from his face. “What are you doing here? Don’t make me ask again.”

“Bite me, you limey leprechaun,” Dean ground out between clenched teeth. His entire body was on fire, but he would never give Crowley the satisfaction of seeing him in pain.

“Dean, you are a witty bastard.” Crowley folded his arms across his chest. “I know what you and the moose are up to.”

Dean snorted a laugh. “That’s a height you’ll never reach.”

A tight smile appeared on the demon’s face. “Amusing.” He nodded to the thug behind Dean again and the human grunted when the well placed punch to his ribcage landed.

“I can do this all night,” Crowley warned. “You on the other hand…”

Dean gasped in a breath and raised his head. “Trust me. I can take more than you can dish out.”

“That’s not what I heard.” The demon’s voice was conspiratorial. “Rumor has it, you fold like a cheap suit after… oh… thirty years?”

“Screw you.”

Crowley smiled. “All in due time.” 

Before Crowley could give the demons another order, a loud explosion rang through the outside corridor, screams and confusion causing all four of the rooms inhabitants to look toward the open gate.

“What now?” Crowley drawled as he rolled his eyes. “Can’t they tell I’m in a meeting?” With a flick of his head, he sent the two demons from the room to investigate the disturbance. He followed them to the edge of the room, before turning back to his prisoner with a contrite look on his face. “I must apologize for the rude interruption.” He spread his hands and shrugged. “But what can you do? It’s turning out to be just one of those days, you know?” He clapped his hands together when Dean simply glared in response. “Right, then. Why don’t you just make yourself comfortable while I go see what the ding-dong is all about? Then we can continue our little discussion.” With a wave, he sauntered out the gate, leaving Dean alone in the chamber.

He allowed himself a low groan, and slumped in the shackles that held his wrists. His ribs and lower back joined his shoulders in a collective sense of agony, and he squeezed his eyes tightly as he tried to manage the pain.

“Dean!”

He started as he felt the hands on him, fearing one of Crowley’s goons had returned. His eyes opened wide in surprise when he recognized the person in who now stood before him.

“Bobby?”

The old hunter gave him a smile in acknowledgement. Dean watched Bobby’s face in awe as the older man looked away toward the shackles that held Dean firmly. He looked around, quickly grabbing an old wooden chair from behind the gate and placed it to Dean’s side. Stepping up, he made quick work of the latches holding the rusty cuffs closed, and jumped down in a deft maneuver to catch the younger man as Dean’s weight suddenly fell onto his tingling legs. His arms were numb from being suspended for so long, and he had little control as they flopped down, landing on Bobby’s shoulders. Dean took the opportunity to envelope his friend in an awkward hug.

“It’s good to see you, too, kid.” Bobby hugged him back in affection. “But we don’t have much time.”

“Where’s Sam?” Dean asked. As feeling returned to his arms and legs, he pushed himself erect and limped over to the corner of the room, a slight groan escaping as he leaned down to retrieve his jacket and shirt. 

Bobby frowned, but didn’t voice his concerns. “Turning demons into shadows.”

Dean gave him a knowing grin as he worked at getting his arms to respond, painfully slipping them into his jacket. “Demon bomb,” he recognized. “Pretty cool, huh?”

Bobby couldn’t help but return the grin. “Not bad. You boys have been busy since I’ve been gone.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

More shouting in the hallway preceded the form of Sam jogging around the corner, one hand on the gate helping to slow his momentum. He quickly looked his brother over, satisfied he was still in one piece and mobile. “Hey,” he said in greeting. He locked eyes with Dean, silently asking if he was okay, receiving a quick nod in response.

“That was the last demon bomb,” Dean observed, trying not to sound critical. After all, if it hadn’t been for Sam’s decision to use it as a diversion, he probably would’ve been the unwilling star of Crowley’s Torture Chamber of Horrors reenactment.

Sam just shrugged. “It worked. But it won’t for long. We gotta make ourselves scarce.”

Bobby waited for Dean to slide past him, then followed the brothers down the hallway.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNS

“Didn’t we just leave this party?” Dean winced, holding his arm close to his side to relieve the stitch that had developed during their dash down a long hallway. Checking down an intersecting corridor, he pulled back quickly when two demons thundered down the passage. 

Sam noticed his brother’s discomfort, but decided the obligatory questions could wait until they were some place safer than the center of a demonic game of hide-and-seek.

“This is some rescue…’

Dean threw a look of irritation over his shoulder toward the old mechanic. “Shut it, Princess Leia.” He turned his attention to Sam, who was grinning at the exchange. He shook his head at what passed for amusement for his geek brother. “Any bright ideas, Einstein?” Dean asked, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes.

Sam shook his head. “Not unless we come across one of the marks I left. You?”

Dean snorted a laugh. “Kinda got distracted,” he admitted. Slowly he raised his head at the sounds of shouting in the hallway they had just come from. “Sounds like Crowley is pissed.” He pushed himself off the wall and ducked his head around the corner, nodding to his brother that the coast was clear. “Anyone have a preference?”

“I vote for the opposite direction of our black-eyed associates.”

Dean looked to Sam, who nodded in approval with Bobby’s assessment.

“Okay,” Dean agreed. “Let’s ---“

Before they could move, a yell rang out from the other end of the hallway. All three turned in unison to see two of Crowley’s henchmen start rumbling in their direction.

“I guess we go that way,” Bobby concluded, thrusting a thumb over his shoulder. He took off, closely followed by the younger hunters. Sam quickly took the lead, turning randomly, trying to keep the pursuing demons from gaining ground. After a few turns, they were still hopelessly lost, but the sounds of pursuit had faded, letting them stop and drag in some much needed, sulfur infused air. 

“At least the damn maze is good for something,” Sam mused as he leaned back against the wall and coughed quietly.

Dean chuckled breathlessly in response.

“Balls!”

The brothers cocked their heads toward the end of the hallway where Bobby was peering around the next corner. 

‘More?”

The older man leaned back against the wall and shook his head. “We ran out of real estate.”

“Huh?” Dean was leaning forward, his hands on his knees, trying to look like he wasn’t about to keel over at any second. His ribs ached and the tight knot in his lower back was starting to throb in time with his heartbeat. He could tell his brother wasn’t exactly feeling 100% either, Sam still not completely recovered from whatever the first trial had taken out of him. But it wasn’t like either of them could stop and get a good rest until they had Bobby’s soul out of this freaking maze and back on the up escalator where it belonged. Then maybe they could take a day or two and get back into fighting shape. Well, at least he could. Whatever the first trial had done to his brother, Dean feared the second would only get worse. 

It wasn’t a comforting thought.

“Dead end,” Bobby explained. He tilted his head to the blind corner. “A bricked up wall. Looks like we hit the end of the trail.”

“Awesome,” Dean groaned as he pushed himself up and limped over to check it out for himself. He felt his brother step up beside him and took as deep a breath as his bruised ribs would allow. “I hate this place.”

Sam snorted in agreement, then took a step closer, holding a hand out toward the dark wall. The bricks were oddly shaped stones of various colors and textures like an old chimney you’d see on houses from a century before. The stones were held together by a faded mortar that was flaking off in places, leaving a spattering of shavings scattered around the base. Sam ran a hand over the mortar, causing more to drift down to the floor.

He pulled his knife from his belt and chipped at the substance, grunting in pleasure when the knife dislodged a large chuck of the mortar, leaving a small hole between two of the stones.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Dean said in awe. “Good work, Comstock.” He pulled his own knife and began to help his brother clear the aged mortar from the stones. They worked in tandem, neither slowing as they felt the center stones loosening, knowing they were running out of time. They had just managed to clear the mortar from around the largest stone when Bobby stepped in behind them. 

“Incoming,” he said simply. 

The brothers exchanged a look, and in perfect unison, turned and rammed two very broad shoulders into the loose stone. The wall gave way and they both tumbled forward, landing in a tangle of limbs on the opposite side of the wall. Bobby followed quickly, his eyes watching as the wall suddenly rebuilt itself, fading into the natural looking rock surface as if it was never there.

“What the hell….”

“Not Hell.”

Bobby turned to see Sam rising, looking around the barren, gray landscape. The trees were close together, shadows playing between them like living entities. He watched as Sam turned to Dean, a frown appearing on his face. “What?” he asked, his voice hushed, his eyes swiveling to take in the unnaturally colorless terrain.

“It’s not Hell,” Dean repeated. The older brother was tense, his hand gripping his knife as if his life depended on it, his body crouched as if awaiting imminent attack. Sam had only seen his brother act like this when they were tracking something or when Dean’s instincts told him there was something tracking them. Right now, he was inclined to trust his brother’s intuition and turned his own knife in his hand. 

“Dean?” Sam stepped closer, his own body tensing as he looked at a very tightly coiled Dean. “What is it? Where are we?”

Dean shook his head as if he could barely bring himself to respond. When he did, his voice was a low, feral growl. “Welcome to Purgatory, Sammy.”

TBC


	4. Act IV

Act IV

“Purgatory?” Sam repeated. “Are you sure?”

Dean huffed a laugh, his eyes surveying the surrounding trees. “Not someplace I’m gonna forget.”

Bobby had given up trying to find a gap in the stone wall they had just miraculously fallen through, and moved up alongside the brothers, his own head rotating around as he took in their current location.

“Are you serious, Dean? How the hell did we get to Purgatory? I thought we needed a damn eclipse?”

Dean moved a few steps away from the others, as if he was uncomfortable standing so close, like he felt hemmed in and needed space to maneuver. He lifted a shoulder in response. “Like Crowley said, Hell adjacent.” One side of his mouth rose in a sneer. “Guess there’s a backdoor even the King of Hell doesn’t know about.”

Sam’s attention alternated between the dark forest surrounding them and his suddenly vigilant brother. From the tight coil of his body, Sam could tell Dean had dropped into complete survival mode. This was a Dean that had always scared the younger man. It was a Dean that acted on impulse, not thinking, just moving. There had been occasions that Sam was thankful his brother could turn everything off and just react to a situation, but he had to admit it was a Dean he’d always been more than a bit wary of. Not that he didn’t respect this version of his brother – his instincts had saved their asses too many times not to, but he couldn’t help but wonder how hard it was for Dean to bury this predatory version of himself on a daily basis, how he was able to push it down and lock it away. Dean was a master of showing people exactly what he wanted them to see. How he was able to keep such firm control so that nobody who didn’t live in his pocket day in and day out would ever suspect this frightening version lurked just under the surface, was something Sam had never been able to fathom.

The thought that Dean had been forced to let this side of himself take control for an entire year made Sam’s stomach turn. As soon as they’d fallen through the stone wall, Dean had realized where they were, and his demeanor had transformed instantly. Sam had hoped to never see the coldly efficient hunter version of his brother he had found in Rufus’ cabin all those months ago, but couldn’t deny he was thankful to see it now.

“I’m guessing I’m missing something here,” Bobby prompted.

Before either of them could fill the older man in on what had transpired when they’d killed Dick Roman, five figures stepped out of the shadows to their right, their eyes gleaming as they spread out, each brandishing a primitive but lethal weapon. Scavengers and bottom dwellers, they wore mismatched clothing that carried years of filth on them. They moved with precision, as if they’d been hunting together all their lives, brandishing the weapons like extensions of their own arms. The figure in the center, the leader Sam presumed, smiled as hideous, sharp fangs descended. 

Vampires.

Sam swallowed hard, instinctively taking a small step back, gasping as his brother did just the opposite.

Dean stood straight, his shoulders back and took a stride toward the vampire leader, his eyes lidded, a predatory smile on his own face.

“Winchester,” the vampire sneered.

“Have we met?” Dean returned. “You all look alike to me.”

“No, but you and that traitor you were traveling with killed more than a few friends of mine.”

“Sorry for your loss.” Dean didn’t skip a beat, his voice low and controlled as he responded.

The vampire raised his weapon. “You will be.”

In unison, the monsters charged. Dean crouched, meeting the lead vampire head on, swinging the knife straight at its neck. As its head rolled back, Dean grabbed the crude but sharp weapon it had been holding, and stepped to the right as the body fell to the ground. He turned, tossed his knife to Bobby and charged a second vampire.

Both Bobby and Sam were stunned at the sudden attack, both taking a few seconds to get their bearings. The remaining vampires came at them from all sides. Sam felt more than saw one of them coming from his left and turned, neatly jamming the demon killing knife through its eye. With a shriek, it fell back, the knife coming loose, giving the hunter a clear shot at its neck. A few moments later, it joined its leader on the cold ground.

Sam turned, seeing Bobby grappling with one of the vampires and rushed to his aid. He stabbed the knife into the back of the vamp’s neck, twisting it and sliding it to the side as the monsters went rigid. Once the blade came free, the vampire’s head tilted to the side, still attached by a few strands of muscle and skin. The body crashed to the ground, and Sam decided it was good enough for the moment.

Making sure Bobby was okay, he turned quickly to help his brother and stopped cold, his eyes wide, his mouth agape. 

Dean was rising from his knees where he had just hacked the head off the last of the five attackers. The other vamp’s body lay not far from the leader, its head nowhere in sight. Dean wiped the bone colored blade he’d appropriated from the first vampire on the sleeve of his jacket and turned to his companions. 

“We have to move. They won’t be the last.”

Sam’s chest ached, and he realized he’d stopped breathing the moment he’d understood his brother had dispatched three vampires without breaking a sweat.

So this was what Dean had faced in Purgatory. This was what he had meant by 24/7 combat. 

He felt Bobby draw up alongside him, and knew the older man was wearing the same expression of astonishment that was currently residing on his own. 

As Dean turned away and started down the path between the trees, Bobby pursed his lips and gave Sam a quick look of concern. “I think you better fill me in on what you boys have been up to.”

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

Hunger wasn’t an issue in Purgatory. Neither was sleep. Dean found himself falling back into survival mode like a familiar pair of jeans. He was aware of the two men behind him as Sam filled Bobby in on what had happened at SucroCorp. Sam’s version glossed over what Dean had been through in Purgatory, only harping on the one thing he’d decided was important – Dean’s alliance with Benny. In all fairness, Dean had never told Sam why his bond with the vampire had been so important, but then again, it had been painfully clear that Sam didn’t want to hear it. He knew it was something that would shock Bobby, but he wasn’t going to apologize for it. Sam could think whatever the hell he wanted. Benny had saved Dean’s life, and despite the fact he had told the vampire he could no longer be there for him, he still felt a connection to him and knew that if push came to shove and Benny really, truly needed him, he wouldn’t hesitate to go. Sam’s opinion be damned.

Dean could feel his old friend’s eyes trained on the back of his head as he swiftly led them through the trees, and he tried to ignore it although it felt like a small laser boring into his soul. They’d run across more monsters, each time Dean anticipating their arrival, his senses in overdrive, using the imminent fight as a distraction to his own perplexing train of thought.

He knew it was only a matter of time before Bobby tried to get him to open up. Nobody had ever been able to get to him like the old mechanic. It was like Dean couldn’t lie to the man. He asked a question, Dean felt compelled to answer. Maybe it was respect. 

Maybe it was just that Bobby cared enough to ask.

SNSNSNSNSNNNNSNSNSNSNSNS

It was brutal. 

Monsters of all kinds coming at them with only one intention. Singer couldn’t believe Dean had spent a year here. He couldn’t believe Sam had let him. 

He couldn’t help but wonder if these boys would’ve gone this far off the rails if he’d been there.

One of the monsters that had attacked them had been a wraith. Dean had easily subdued it, pinning it to a tree, his appropriated weapon at its throat. He asked it about a lake, calmly waiting for it to answer his questions, then ruthlessly relieving it of its head. After that, Bobby had kept his eye on the younger man, not sure he liked what he was seeing.

Slowly he made his way up the trail, coming abreast with Dean who was setting a brisk pace.

“So…” Bobby began, not entirely sure what he wanted to say. He could see Dean was locked down, his eyes wide and taking in everything surrounding them. “A lake?”

“Point of reference,” Dean responded succinctly. 

“Like due north,” Bobby concluded.

Dean nodded. “The lake was where we found Cas. From there I can find our way to the portal.”

Bobby remained silent, trusting the kid’s sense of direction. Like he had a choice…

“Found Cas?” he finally ventured. “Sam said you two disappeared together.”

“Yeah,” Dean answered bitterly. “And then he poofed out.”

“He left you alone?” Bobby was incredulous. “Here?” He’d had his issues with the angel, but he’d never imagined that Cas would put Dean in harm’s way on purpose.

Dean just shrugged. “Leviathans were after him. He said it was safer if he wasn’t with me. It took us months to find him”

“Talk about the frying pan and fire,” the older hunter mumbled. Dean snorted in agreement.

“So this ‘us” you’re talking about. This your new vampire buddy?”

Dean finally looked at him, his defenses up at the accusation in Bobby’s tone.

Bobby shrugged. “Sam told me you’ve been cozying up with monsters. I want to hear it from you.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t break his stride. “Did Sam also mention that Benny saved my ass more times than I can count?” His voice rose in volume, loud enough for his brother to easily hear. “Did Sam mention that while my own brother was playing house with a girl and a dog, Benny was watching my back, watching Cas’ back, leading us to the way out?”

Bobby glanced back at the younger Winchester, but Sam wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“I get it, kid. He helped you. But what were you thinkin’ lettin’ a monster loose in the world again?”

Dean stopped abruptly and turned to face the older man. His eyes turned stony, his lips thinned in carefully controlled anger. “We made a deal. He used me, I used him. He kept his part of the deal, I kept mine. End of story.”

“I ain’t passing judgment, boy. It’s just you are the last person I thought I’d ever see trusting a monster.”

Dean took a deep breath, his eyes dropping to the ground as he reined in his emotions. “Do you know how Benny ended up here?” He looked up at his brother, his brows raised in question. “His own nest took his head – because he refused to kill humans.” He looked pointedly at Sam, letting the younger man contemplate the meaning of his words. “He got me out.” Dean returned his gaze to Bobby, no apology in them. “I got him out. And he kept his word.”

With another glance at his brother, Dean stalked off into the trees.

Bobby sighed, waiting while Sam crossed the terrain to join him. 

“You left a few details out,” he accused as they both began tailing Dean again.

“I didn’t know.”

“Like you didn’t know he was trapped here?”

Sam sighed. “Dean and I made a deal not to look for each other. I was –“

“Damnit, Sam, I know about that deal. Hell, I helped you two make that deal! It’s a non-deal!” Bobby shook his head at the beat-down sag of Sam’s shoulders. “You two boys are the most dysfunctional pair of idjits I’ve ever known.”

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

Sam was beginning to wonder if Dean really knew where he was going. They’d been walking for what felt like half a day, the gray, monotony of the landscape broken only by attacks from monsters of every variety Vamps, wraiths, werewolves, and a few Sam couldn’t even identify. All swiftly and efficiently dealt with. Sam could see that Dean had shut down. Whether it was being back here, or his anger at Sam he couldn’t be sure. Either way he vowed to make it up to his brother if they managed to get out.

Dean had stayed ahead, not speaking to either of them as they trudged on. Sam was surprised he hadn’t felt hungry, despite the vigorous pace his brother had set. He wasn’t thirsty either. Even Purgatory had its silver lining, he guessed.

Knowing it would come across as whining, he was about to ask his brother how much longer, when Dean stopped near the edge of a raised cliff. Halfway up the steep incline, a shimmering portal came into view, it’s edges expanding as they inched closer. 

“Wow,” Sam exclaimed, his eyes riveted to the sight of the portal. It glittered against the gray backdrop of the mountainside, a bright blue sizzle of light dancing in the distance. 

Dean pulled his knife and held it out to Sam. “You know what to do.” He had quickly explained the procedure to them both as they trekked along reciting the spell he had used to ferry Benny out before. Sam nodded and took the knife, turning to face Bobby. “You ready?”

Bobby took a deep breath and looked each of his boys in the eyes. “Felt good to be back in action again. Might not hurt to keep me around.”

Dean looked away, but Sam shook his head sadly. “Bobby, we’d love to, you know that. But for this trial to be completed, your soul has to enter Heaven.” He looked to Dean for support, but his brother had turned away, his eyes on the ground at his feet. “Besides,” he hastily added. “Even if that weren’t the case, we burned your bones, Bobby. And the flask. There’s nothing to tie your spirit to earth.”

Bobby nodded as if he’d expected it. “Yeah, well, I always figured that’d be the end of it.” Bobby shuffled his feet, uncomfortable with the finality of it all. “You know, a hunter’s funeral then zip, nothin’.. And I was okay with that.” He huffed a laugh. “Imagine my surprise.”

Sam smiled sadly. “I guess if there has to be an eternity, I’d pick Heaven over Hell,” he offered, hoping it would help quell his friend’s uncertainty.

“Yeah, like there’s nothin’ screwy goin’ on up there.” Bobby rolled his eyes, his lips pulled back into a sardonic grin.

“I wish we made the rules.”

Bobby’s eyes softened and his grin turned into a warm smile at Dean’s quiet words.

After a few moments, he straightened his shoulders and adjusted the cap on his head. “Well, I’ll do my part, get to the end of this, but I ain’t exactly the retiring type, so... “ Again he let his gaze travel from Sam to Dean, holding the older brother’s eyes for a bit. “If you idjits figure out a way to spring me…”

Dean’s nod was almost imperceptible, and Sam could see the grief at losing their surrogate father again in his brother’s eyes. Losing Bobby had almost killed them, there was no easy way to say goodbye again.

Sam cleared his throat, hoping he sounded stronger than he felt. “We get to earth and release you, it’s an express straight to Heaven. No time for goodbyes.”

Bobby’s eyes were shining as he stepped forward and placed a hand on Sam’s arm, grabbing Dean’s sleeve, creating an unbreakable bond. . “I already said goodbye to you boys once. Didn’t seem to take. No reason to think I won’t see you again down the road.”

Sam smiled through the mist in his own eyes. He couldn’t force himself to look at his brother. He couldn’t bear to see the sorrow he knew was lurking behind Dean’s mask. 

He handed the knife to Bobby who made a shallow cut on his forearm before doing the same to his own. With a last look at Bobby, he recited the phrase Dean had taught him, tensing as Bobby’s form phased out and a warm, pulsing light entered his arm.

They stood for a moment, neither brother able to speak, knowing they would probably never see their friend again.

“If they give him a rocking chair up there, he’s gonna raise hell.”

Sam couldn’t help but snort a laugh at his brother’s remark. “He’s gonna raise hell no matter what.”

They both turned to the shimmering portal just as a small band of freaks emerged from the treeline. 

“Move!” Dean ordered, pushing his brother in front of him toward the incline. It was a tough climb, but being pursued by a fiendish hoard of monsters made the effort seem painless. It only took them minutes to reach the top of the cliff, the portal pulling on them as the monsters scrambled up the incline behind them. Sam looked back, making sure his brother was behind him and felt the sudden sensation of being pushed and pulled at the same time. As he fell into the portal, he reached down and latched onto Dean’s jacket, allowing the tug of the portal to pull both him and his brother through the seam. 

 

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

 

They tumbled from the portal into a dark forest, the familiar disorientation leaving Dean gasping for air. After a few moments, he became aware of his brother lying to his right, prone, trying to suck in oxygen of his own.

“Sammy?” Dean pushed himself to his knees. He reached an arm out, slapping his brother’s jean-clad leg. “You okay?”

Sam coughed and forced himself up on one elbow. “Wow,” he remarked breathlessly. “That was…”

“Yeah. Quite the rush, huh?”

Sam nodded and struggled to a sitting position, still breathing hard. He looked around, raising one hand to his face to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Where the hell are we?”

“Maine,” Dean grunted. He scrambled to his feet, turning in a circle, surveying the darkness. 

“Maine?”

“Yep. Middle of fucking nowhere.”

“How did you…?” Sam waved a hand at the dark, lonely, completely uninhabited landscape surrounding them, letting his question hang. He had no idea how his brother had gotten to Rufus’ cabin from here before. Dean had never explained a lot about what had happened to him. To be fair, Sam had never really listened either.

Dean shrugged. “I found a campsite.” He grinned as he recalled the shock on the young couples’ faces when he’d confronted them outside their tent on his first return from Purgatory. “I think I probably scared the crap out of a couple campers. I probably looked pretty wild.”

Sam hissed in pain and Dean watched as he grabbed his arm, rolling his sleeve to reveal the pulsing light of Bobby’s soul.

“Feel’s weird, huh?”

Sam snorted a laugh. “Burns,” he admitted. “How long did you carry Benny?”

“Few days,” Dean responded casually. He ignored Sam’s look of surprise, turning away and running a hand down his face. He grimaced at the feel of the slick sweat on his skin. “His bones were buried near New Orleans.” He offered as explanation. “Took me a while to get there since I couldn’t get to my car…”

Sam had the grace to look ashamed at the reminder of his ignorance of his brother’s plight. The sensation of Bobby’s soul, pulsating beneath his skin, wasn’t exactly painful, but it was damn uncomfortable. Knowing it was Bobby made it bearable. For Dean to have humped the soul of a vampire across the country… well, it was testament to how much Benny had come to mean to him. More than that, it was a testament to Dean’s sense of honor.

Aware of his brother’s scrutiny, Dean shifted on his feet and held out a hand to help Sam to his. Once the younger man was vertical, Dean slapped him on the shoulder and cleared his throat.

“You ready?”

Sam steeled himself and held his arm in front of him. With a glance at his brother, the hunter took a deep breath and recited the chant that would release Bobby’s soul. The sensation was a slight burning, coupled with an inexplicable sense of loss. Maybe housing Bobby’s soul had psychologically made him feel closer to their old friend. Maybe part of his own soul was bleeding out with Bobby’s.

Whatever the reason, Sam couldn’t help the sense of sadness that weighted his heart as he watched the effervescent white and blue cloud of light ascend toward the dark sky.

As it neared the tops of the trees, the cloud’s upward movement stopped as if hitting an invisible ceiling. The bright, flickering blue changed to a dull, smoky red as the soul began to descend toward the ground.

“What the hell?”

“Hello, boys.”

The hunters turned in unison at the familiar voice, scowling at the figure standing on a rise just behind them. 

Crowley gave them a condescending smile before turning his eyes to the smoky cloud hovering just above them. “Bobby Singer. I’d know you anywhere.”

“Let him go, Crowley.” Dean’s voice was hushed, pleading. “He doesn’t belong in Hell.”

“He does if I say he does.” Crowley responded smugly. “He’s inflicted untold damage on my kind. Actually, from where I sit, Hell’s too good for him.”

Both hunters started forward in anger at the demon’s words, but a flick of a wrist saw them both flying painfully into a pair of trees a few feet from their position, held three feet off the ground by Crowley’s magic.

“Really?” Crowley rolled his eyes, his amusement at the humans’ useless attempt at attack obvious. He returned his gaze to the cloud above him, smiling as it began to descend again. 

His expression turned to one of confusion as the cloud stopped.

“What?” 

A flash of light signaled a new arrival to the party. Crowley’s face pinched as the smartly dressed woman smiled.

“Oh, come on!” He cried in irritation.

The immobilized hunters struggled to turn their heads, confusion written on their faces. 

The woman stepped forward, her hands clasped in front of her, the very picture of composure.

“Let me see if I’ve interpreted the situation correctly.” Her attention was on Crowley, but her glance took in the two hunters to her left. “The Winchesters have freed an innocent from Hell, to which you are wrongfully trying to return.” It was a statement, not a question, but she waited politely for Crowley to respond.

“Siding with them, Naomi? You don’t know those two. Before they’re done, we’ll both be locked away.”

The King of Hell’s contemptuous tone was lost on Dean, who stared in shock at the angel Castiel had insinuated was controlling him.

“I’m just hoping they lock you away, dear.” Naomi responded coldly. “The rest, I’ll figure out.” There was obviously no love lost between the two supernatural beings, but despite the fact Naomi seemed to be helping them, after what he’d learned from Cas, Dean wasn’t about to trust the new angel. 

“Bureaucrat,” Crowley growled, distastefully. “You’re fighting outside your weight class.”

Naomi’s expression changed to one of carefully controlled rage in an instant. “Don’t call me a bureaucrat!”

A blinding light began to emanate from her eyes, a shrill hum filling the air around them. She raised her hand toward the demon, but he had vanished. 

The hunters fell to the ground, no longer held aloft by Crowley’s magic. They quickly looked up, relieved to see the dark, murky cloud become bright again and slowly rise up, disappearing like a shooting star toward heaven.

They both picked themselves up from the ground and dusted themselves off before turning their attention to the angel. She pulled down the front of her gray suit jacket as if about to greet an important client, plastered a smile on her face and stepped toward the Winchesters.

She held out her hand. “Hello, Dean. Sam.” She nodded to each of them in turn. “We haven’t been formally introduced. My name is Naomi.”

Dean took a small step back, holding an arm out to thwart Sam’s attempt to take the angel’s proffered hand.

“Oh, I know who you are,” he responded in a tight voice. “I know what you did to Cas after he got out of Purgatory.”

“After I rescued him from Purgatory, you mean.” Her voice changed in tone, a touch of annoyance bleeding into the manufactured charm. “At the cost of many angels’ lives.”

Dean wasn’t buying her act and shook his head. “You screwed with his head and had him spy on us.” While he was still angry with Cas for not trusting them – not trusting him – he knew, deep down, that it wasn’t completely Castiel’s fault. He’d been around the block with these dicks enough times to know that manipulation was one of the things the angel hierarchy excelled at.

Naomi clasped her hands in front of her and tipped her head contritely. “Well, it’s true I have spoken with Castiel many times, trying to reach out to him, trying to help him, Dean, you must have noticed how Purgatory changed him.” She stared at Dean, daring him to contradict her. “I mean, he’s been unstable in the past, but I was shocked at how damaged he is now.” She finished with a look of feigned outrage that could have won her an Emmy.

She was good, Dean had to admit. If he didn’t know better, if he hadn’t witnessed Cas’ actions with his own eyes, felt the pain of the rage the angel couldn’t control, he may have bought the act. As it was, he knew a lie when he heard one.

He was sick of being played.

“Stop. Okay? Don’t… don’t try to spin this. You think I don’t know that you told him to try and kill me?”

Dean heard Sam’s sharp intake of breath from behind him and felt his brother move closer. He’d never told Sam everything that had happened in the crypt. His brother was dealing with enough crap, Dean hadn’t felt the need to layer Castiel’s newest betrayal on top of everything else.

Naomi continued to deflect. “I suppose that is how he would hear it.” She shook her head in regret. “When I learned of the Angel tablet, I did tell Castiel to get it – at any cost. That’s my job,” she spread her hands before her. “To protect Heaven.”

Dean couldn’t stifle a derisive huff at the gall of her continuing act. This bitch was very good.

“I’m a warrior,” Naomi continued, attempting to appeal to their analogous natures. “Just as you are. What would you expect? And now Castiel is in the wind with a hydrogen bomb in his pocket and I…” Her voice had risen and she paused for dramatic effect, making a show of collecting herself and reining in her emotions. 

Dean almost applauded the performance.

“I’m scared for all of us.” 

“Save it.” Dean’s voice was hard, his expression stony. He wasn’t buying into any more angel crap. Not now. Not ever again. “I don’t trust angels. Which means I don’t trust you.”

Naomi’s eyes flashed in anger for a moment before the calm façade resettled on her face. “I suppose, after everything, I can understand your feelings. I just hope I can somehow change your mind.” She smiled, and Dean cringed at the sight. “I believe we can be beneficial to each other.”

Without another word, she disappeared, the hushed sound of flapping wings echoing through the trees.

It was Sam who broke the silence after what seemed like an eternity.

“What the hell?”

“Frickin’ angels.” Dean grumbled in response. Before his brother could start vocalizing the millions of thoughts that were certainly swirling around in his egghead brain, Dean turned and looked him in the eye. “You ready to finish this?”

Swallowing his questions – ones Dean was certain he’d end up answering in annoying detail later – Sam nodded and pulled the piece of paper containing the chant for the trial from his pocket.

This time, the reaction to whatever magic was working through his brother was much more intense. Dean could only watch, his heart in his throat, as Sam screamed and fell to his knees, holding out his hand as a fiery, orange light pulsed through it. Although it resembled the light of Bobby’s soul, Sam’s reaction to it was the exact opposite. It was obviously painful, and Dean could do nothing to make this better for his brother. 

He had never felt more useless in his life.

“Sam? Sammy?” He knelt down next to his brother as the orange glow faded and Sam’s grunts of pain died away. The younger man wasn’t moving, his panting breaths the only outward sign of life.

“Yeah,” he replied after a few moments. “I’m okay.”

Dean wanted to call bullshit, but knew now was not the time. He gave his brother a few more minutes to catch his breath, knowing the long hike back to civilization would zap his strength – or what was left of it. Despite the fact he knew Naomi had been full of shit, he couldn’t help wishing she’d at least offered them a lift. Regardless of the side effects, a quick trip back to the Impala on Angel Air sounded like a good idea right now.

SNSNSNSNSNS

They had hiked through the northwestern wilderness for the better part of the day, Dean keeping the pace slow enough so as not to tire his brother too badly, but quick enough to keep the younger man from calling foul. As the sun was beginning to set, they came upon a vacant campsite. Figuring the occupants were out hiking or fishing, the hunters took the opportunity to avail themselves of a few bottles of water and some food.

Aware his brother had been keeping an eye on him throughout their trek, Sam was happy to see the beat-up old Ford Bronco parked off the trail by the side of the tent. The Bronco proved to be little challenge for Dean’s talents of appropriation, and soon they were back on the road headed toward where they had left the Impala in Wyoming. 

Much to Sam’s surprise, his brother hadn’t bombarded him with inquiries as to his current state of health. Sam considered that a good thing since he had to admit he felt like crap.

On the other hand, maybe Dean wasn’t asking because the answer was obvious.

As if on cue, the older brother cleared his voice and spoke up. “You doing okay?”

Sam couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’ll live.”

Dean glanced at him, his eyes raking up and down the younger man, his doubt written on his face. Sam gave him a reassuring smile.

“Really.”

Dean just nodded and returned his attention to the road. 

Sam watched his brother. He had no idea what Dean had endured in Purgatory until today. Dean had said it was 24/7 combat, but the words didn’t really do the actual place justice. How his brother had survived…. 

Actually being there had put a few things in a whole new light. The fact that Benny had stuck by his brother, had protected him, had his back while Sam was in the real world fixing sinks and playing handy man made him feel an intense sense of guilt. He’d tried to bury it when he’d felt it before, but he knew it was useless. He couldn’t run from his mistakes forever.

Dean had made a point of supporting him and believing in him through these trials. He owed his brother some honesty in return.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. He kept his eyes on his brother, and even though he didn’t react, Sam knew he’d heard him. Dean kept his eyes carefully trained on the road, a slight tick in his jaw the only sign he was listening.

After a few moments of silence, Dean nodded slightly, but didn’t take his eyes from the road. “For what?”

Sam swallowed, not sure how to put what he was feeling into words. “I’m sorry about how I reacted to Benny,” he finally admitted. “After what we just saw… those monsters… how savage they were… Benny had your back. He got you out. He’s obviously different from them. Different from what I thought he was. I should never have reacted like I did. I may not have wanted to trust him, but I should’ve trusted you.”

Dean took a deep breath, his hands twisting on the leather padded steering wheel. He still didn’t look at his brother, but Sam could see a softening in his expression and he knew he’d been heard. 

“Anyway, I just wanted you to know I was sorry.”

Finally Dean glanced across the bench seat at his brother. His eyes were lidded, but a soft smile played on his face. “Any more deep, dark confessions you want to get off your chest?”

Sam snorted a laugh, marveling at his brother’s capacity for forgiveness. The laugh ended in a jaw-breaking yawn that left Dean chuckling. “Yeah,” Sam answered honestly. “A few. But to tell you the truth, I’m just too tired right now.”

There were a lot of things Sam needed to apologize for, but he knew they could wait. Dean wasn’t going anywhere. And even if these trials ended up costing more than they’d bargained, Sam knew his brother’s forgiveness was something he could count on. Whether he deserved it or not.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNS

Kevin Tran shook the can of spray paint and leaned forward, touching up the sigil on the window of Fizzles Folly. He hadn’t heard from Dean or Sam since they’d taken off to attempt the second trial, and he was climbing the walls waiting for some kind of sign. The Winchesters had assured him that Crowley’s voice was all in his head… but you could never be too sure. A little touch up on security wouldn’t hurt.

“So tired of this, aren’t you Kevin?” The prophet nearly fell from the stool he was perched on, turning quickly, his eyes scanning the dark interior of the boat as Crowley’s voice continued. “The fear, the hiding… I know I am.”

Kevin placed the can of spray paint down on the shelf , his gaze shifting from shadow to shadow. The only light came from a trio of candles he’d lit in the center of the main living space, the darkness fluttering around the edges of the small room. “It’s a dream,” he whispered unconvincingly to himself. “It’s just a dream.”

The symbols on the windows started to glow as the boat began to shake, a low whine beginning to crescend into a high pitched screech that hurt his ears. The screech was joined by a deep rumble, the two building together, resembling the approach of a tornado. Kevin stepped to the side and covered his ears just as the windows shattered inward.

“Kevin Tran.” Kevin looked up to see the King of Hell pinch one of the candles out with his fingertips. “Been a while.” The demon glared at Kevin, amused at the fear apparent on the young prophets face. “Thought you could elude me forever? There’s always a way. If you can’t find one Tran… find another.” He gave Kevin a moment to let the meaning of his words sink in. “Your mom,” Crowley assured smugly. “She didn’t want to give you up -- quite a pain threshold that one – but even she could only take so much.”

Kevin shook his head, his voice shaking in fear, “She never would have told you.”

Crowley moved forward, tucking his hands casually into the pockets of his overcoat. “Moms are like that aren’t they?” he agreed, before letting a chilling smile lift his lips. “So we killed her and got your address from her smart phone.”

“No!!!!”

Crowley smile faded and a cruel glint of anger filled his eyes. “What you people never seem to understand is that you are nothing! Fleeting blips of light. I. Am. Forever!”

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNS

It had taken them another day to get back to Missouri from the cowboy cemetery in Wyoming and Dean was looking forward to at least 24 hours in his memory foam bed when they returned to the bunker. He had done the driving, letting Sam sleep on and off, hoping the rest was doing his brother some good. From the way the younger man looked, it didn’t seem to be helping, but Dean knew there was nothing else he could do for Sam at the moment. 

And that fact was something he didn’t want to think about.

The boat was quiet when they arrived, but that was normal, considering Garth was rarely around and Kevin was busy deciphering the writing on the tablet. It wasn’t until they entered the boat that Dean became concerned.

“Kevin? It’s us! Kevin?” His voice echoed in the empty room, the walls and floors completely cleared of all of the young prophet’s work. The place looked like it had been visited by the crew from Merry Maids. It made Dean’s skin itch.

“Kevin?” Sam repeated, looking in the small alcove Kevin had used as a bedroom. The room looked like it had never been lived in. He stepped back into the main room and shook his head. “He’s gone. He took all his stuff, his notes…”

Dean sighed. “Well, saw this coming.” Kevin had been stressed for quite some time. They had pushed him, hoping he was strong enough to get the job done. Apparently, they’d pushed too hard. “He finally freaked. The little geek made a run for it.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. He hated to think of the young prophet running out on his own. It wouldn’t be the first time, but they were so close to ending it. He couldn’t believe Kevin had bolted now. “But where?”

Dean wished like hell he knew.

 

End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it; what I wish we could've gotten from this episode. Alas, it was not to be. But it was good therapy to write it and I hope it helped some of you that were as disappointed by this season as I was. Thanks for reading!


End file.
